Scenes of Family Life
by AM1612
Summary: A series of vignettes from the life of the Black family, centred on Walburga.
1. Chapter 1

**Anything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made of this.**

Children. Hateful creatures. She couldn't stand children. Disorderly, repulsive fiends, making mischief and wreaking havoc. She never had been able to tolerate her younger siblings when growing up. Her mother used to explain to her that it was a good wife and daughter's duty to bear children, but she had seldom bothered paying any attention. In those days, there was no fear of the family name dying out. That horrible spectre of extinction was yet to rear its ugly head, with plenty of relations to breed and continue the Black line, always pure, always noble. She had never seriously been able to think of herself becoming a mother.

Until now.

Her husband's uncle Regulus was dead, unmarried and childless. Among her own brothers Cygnus had failed to produce a single son with her pitiful wife, and Alphard, useless lump of lard that he was, had refused outright to marry.

It was up to her.

She distinctly remembered her wedding night, eleven years ago. She had lain down in bed and gone straight to sleep, not even bothering to look at her youthful husband as he shivered beside her. It had taken them years to consummate their union. After that, Walburga had moved her husband into his own bedroom, down the hall, with enough doors and enough distance between the two to discourage him from attempting any nasty nocturnal excursions.

She was sitting upright in bed, combing her long, glossy black hair. Her heart missed a beat as the door began to open. This early?

It was only her mother. A short, stout woman, remarkably unattractive, the prudish Irma Crabbe had never turned heads or attracted stares. Yet there was a hint of kind-heartedness, of motherly tenderness, buried deep within her shapeless bosom that was wholly lacking in her daughter.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, dear? I just thought I'd check on you before going to bed, just to make sure you're feeling alright," she ventured tentatively, seating herself at the foot of the bed.

"I shall be perfectly alright, thank you, Mother. Good night." intoned Walburga. Her tone made it perfectly plain that she meant this as a dismissal.

Irma, however, continued to hover around with a hesitant air. "You know, I'm so glad you've decided to try for...well, to try at last. I can't help but feel that you & Orion should have started a long time ago, just like dear Cygnus & Druella. Children, you know dear, are a really wonderful source of solace and comfort. To be sure, my marriage did not appear particularly successful, at the outset, but with time, and with your birth, your father and I settled into what I think we can call a rather contented matrimonial existence."

"No doubt about it, mother. Perhaps you should be going to bed, now." was her daughter's cold reply.

Irma, however, made one, last, desperate attempt at optimism. "I'm sure it'll go quite well. If you need anything, remember-"

"Mother, I shall certainly not trouble you again tonight. Good Night."

Irma edged out of the room, sighing. Left again to her own devices, Walburga resumed combing her hair, gazing pensively into her hand-mirror. Eventually, she laid her vanity case aside, and settled into her bed, drawing the covers up to her chest. As she gazed around her orderly, elaborately furnished bedroom, her mind conjured a vision of the whole place a battered wreck, with an army of faceless little horrors running around, smashing her vases, shredding her books, scrawling on the walls, jumping on the bed. She shuddered in horror.

She heard a scratching at her door. Taking a deep breath, she extinguished the candle at her bedside.

"Enter," she called out.

x. x. x.

Later that night, with her hair in disarray, and an unfamiliar bulk of warm flesh breathing steadily beside her, she rose from her bed and crossed to the window, watching the night sky. She had already decided that the child's name would be Sirius. (Of course, it could only be a boy). She wondered what it would be like, having a boy in the house, which had been devoid of sons for some three decades. She allowed a small measure pride to well up within her bosom. After all, he would bear her very own blood twice over, the sole heir of her ancestors. He would do them all proud, she thought. Let Druella & Lucretia fuss over their bothersome whelps. She'd bear the only son in the family. Once again, she was going to prove herself the only man of the brood, as her grandfather used to say. Gloating inwardly, she thought perhaps it wouldn't be that bad having a child after all.

Yawning daintily, she got back into bed, and went to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

A long, thin wail filled the darkened birthing-chamber as Walburga's new son, bathed and swaddled in white, was presented to his mother, who lay exhausted upon the wide bed's bloodied covers. She wrinkled her aquiline nose at the child.

"Take it away. I don't want to see it; the wretched thing almost killed me," she declared.

Without a word, the healer bowed and took the child out of the room. Irma's anxious eyes followed them to the door.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to hold him just once, dear?" she asked. "After all, he is your first-"

"No, mother, I'm quite sure I wouldn't." snapped Walburga. "Firstborn or not, I have undergone few more miserable experiences in the course of my life." Getting shakily to her feet, she waved away Irma's offers of support with irritation. A brief dizziness assailed her, but she overcome it through sheer force of will. She tottered unsteadily towards her dressing chamber, where the a warm bath had been prepared for her. As she thought back to the pains, the agony, she closed her eyes and shuddered. _Never, never again, _she vowed silently to herself.

That, however, was one illusion she would not be permitted to entertain very long.

"Rubbish!" croaked Orion's vile old father, Arcturus. "I've never heard of such nonsense. Why, in my poor mother's day, a shameful thing it would have been for any decent, self-respecting pureblood witch to produce less than three children. No, no, it simply won't do. At least one more, I absolutely insist upon it."

Walburga wanted to strangle her father-in-law, but controlled the impulse. She was seated demurely on a low footstool in the cavernous drawing-room at Grimmauld Place, surrounded by a plethora of prying relatives.

"Your father-in-law is quite right," said Aunt Cassiopeia. "You've waited long enough as it is. Look at your poor Aunt Dorea: going on forty with absolutely nothing to show for it after twenty-odd years of marriage."

"It's unhealthy not to want children," declared shrivelled Aunt Belvina. "What other duty do you have as a good wife, my dear? Surely you aren't imbibing these dirty mudblood ideas, about 'liberation' and 'emancipation' and goodness knows what else? I tell you, you'll be the happier for another child."

"Besides, it's a scrawny enough young runt you've produced," affirmed Aunt Charis, now a mother of three. "I doubt it'll live to see it's next birthday. You may as well turn out a spare, just in case."

"Oh, I think you're wrong there, Charis" said Pollux, Walburga's father. "It whines and moans, but it's a stubborn enough child in its own way. I doubt it'll let go that easily."

Irma approached Walburga, sympathetically patting her hand. "Just think, dear, what if it turns out to be a girl this time? A nice young daughter all to yourself, to bring up just as you please. Think what a comfort that would be!" she whispered coaxingly. "And what great _fun,_ too! You'll be able to buy her clothes, and dress her hair, and do all sorts of things together," she continued, forgetting what little solace her own daughter had been to her.

Walburga sighed. She could see that the battle was lost. "Very well, father, I understand. Orion & I will continue trying. But do let us wait a year or so, if you please."

Pollux nodded understandingly, and held up a hand to silence the grumbling Arcturus. "Of course, dear," he said kindly, "You just take your time."

And that was that.

x.x.x.

Later that evening, as Irma sat alone in her dressing room, gloomily clipping her nails, there was a tap against the door. It opened, and in walked Lycoris, Arcturus' sister.

Lycoris Black was the cuckoo in the family nest…literally. With her broad, square face, bulbous nose, slow brown eyes, and a head of thick red hair, Lycoris looked unlike any other Black, alive or dead. The whole family knew the story of Great-Aunt Hesper's little indiscretion with Barbatius Belby while her husband travelled in Greece. Consequently, Lycoris had never been permitted to marry and spread her tainted blood.

Heaving, she sat down next to Irma. "That silly girl of yours doesn't know what she's missing," declared Lycoris, but without malice. "What wouldn't I have given to be able to call a child my own, cradle it in my arms, knowing it to be my own flesh and blood? Tell me, Irma, what greater joy is there for a woman than to bear children?"

"I can't say I know, cousin. I often think how much better it would have been for Walburga if she was born a man." sighed Irma. "She's so like her grandfather that it frightens me. Always talking about blood purity, the need to purge society, talking politics, saying the most vicious things about muggles and mudbloods. Not, of course, that there's anything wrong with that," she added hastily. "I only wish that she'd enjoy life while she can, and leave all that sort of business to the men. Half of everything she says flies over my head. Do you know, she hasn't so much as looked at baby Sirius since the birth? It worries me, I swear it does." Suddenly, without warning, Irma began weeping, silently and laboriously.

Shocked, Lycoris moved to put an arm round her. "There, there, dear, you don't need to worry about anything. It'll all come right in the end, you'll see," she said soothingly. "Once there's another child, everything will be alright. It's just the shock of the first time, you know. There's nothing for you to worry about! Here, blow your nose."

Irma took the proferred handkerchief, and dabbed delicately at her eyes. "Thank you, I feel better. I – don't know what came over. Just the worry of it all, I suppose." she sniffed.

"Now, now, you go to bed and get a good night's sleep. We'll talk it over tomorrow if there's anything as still worries you." said Lycoris. She waited until Irma was comfortably ensconced between her bolsters, and then ambled out of the room.

Irma lay awake a little longer, thinking of how happy she'd been when _she'd _first had a child, little Walburga. Those first few years, especially when Alphard & Cygnus followed, had been among the happiest of her life. And now look at the state of things. Ah, well, at least she could look forward to the pitter patter of yet more little feet in years to come. Beaming at the thought, she closed her swollen eyes and promptly fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Immediately after being born, Walburga was snatched from the arms of her fifteen year old mother by her grandmother, Violetta Bulstrode. She was then taken to live with her grandfather, the great Cygnus Black. She spent the entirety of her childhood living in his palatial residence, Carlton House. In Muggle eyes, the mansion had been demolished in 1825, and replaced with an expensive series of houses. The fact of the matter was that Cygnus' great-great-grandfather, another Sirius Black, had purchased the house from the Ministry, and cast a simple Fidelius Charm on it. He then published a notice of this in the Daily Prophet, thus rendering the house accessible to more or less every wizard in the country, while removing it altogether from Muggle London. The house had passed down through the generations, generally being given to some younger son or nephew. Cygnus took possession when his brother Phineas was disowned in 1910.

Cygnus was a quintessential Black. He possessed the characteristic grey eyes, an aristocratic nose, thin, tightly compressed lips, and a high, intelligent forehead surmounting his long, drawn face. He was one of those people who seem to have been born into middle age. Perpetually in an unpleasant temper, arrogant, condescending and prudishly uptight, he was every young buck's worst nightmare. He whiled away his days reading dusty tomes and writing incomprehensible genealogies and family histories. With depressing punctuality, he turned up at the Ministry every day at three, and stayed there haranguing officials and punctiliously fulfilling his judicial duties, until five o'clock, when he returned home, and retired to his study to drink, smoke, and work on one of his esoteric literary projects. His horror of female company was so great that most men wondered how he had managed to sire four children by his unfortunate wife. Once a week, on Friday evenings, he attended the Orpington Club, a prestigious, exclusive political club for pure-blood wizards. They met, drank heavily, and vented their spleen in cursing mudbloods and conspiring against the Ministry. Cygnus followed this routine scrupulously, day after day, from 1910 to his death in 1943.

Although he maintained a very correct, formal façade in public, at home he was prone to strange, long episodes of melancholy, sudden fits of erratic rage, and, queerest of all, contemplative periods of pensive meditation, during which he withdrew completely into himself, and went through the motions of personal and professional life in a completely mechanical, absent fashion. These ended in abrupt mood swings. It was only during these curious episodes that Walburga actually got to know her grandfather. She imbibed his personality and manner, for in her eyes, Cygnus was the apex of all that was Black.

Violetta, his wife, was his diametric opposite. Her favourite occupation was make-up and dressing, and her card-parties were the talk of Wizarding London. Cygnus left her to her own devices, and indulged her every whim in the hope that she's leave him alone. She liked to boast to her sisters that the only times she ever had to lay eyes him was when conceiving the children. Walburga couldn't stand her grandmother's company.

Once, when she was eleven, at home from Hogwarts for the winter, Cygnus called her into his study. For a long while, he just sat at his massive desk, staring reflectively into a glass of whiskey. Without looking up, he stated "Drusus Rosier has a daughter."

Walburga knew better than to ask for clarification. "I see, grandfather."

"I'm thinking about her for one of your brothers," he sighed.

"Of course, grandfather."

"You know, of course, what they're like, the Rosiers," he said. "Very pretty faces, very airy heads, and very empty pockets. They're every one as poor as church mice."

"Yes, grandfather," said Walburga.

"You understand, child, this is what distinguishes us. Pure-blood families have _character_. We have _distinctiveness_, individuality to all of us. As the blood stays pure, so do our characters. Generation after generation, parent to child. The fruit borne by the untainted tree tastes as sweet, no matter the branch." Cygnus exhaled heavily through his mouth. "That is why mudbloods disgust me. Think of the filth! All that scum and corruption, tainting our lines, lines pure and well-bred, unbroken since the days of the Conquest, and before; how revolting it all is. These faceless, dirty swine penetrate our families, and once the taint enters, they're done for. Finished! Turned into vapid, warped, half-blood monstrosities!"

Walburga sat transfixed, drinking in the vituperative as she stared at her grandfather.

"Earlier this year, when the Wizengamot met to elect a new Minister, I was quite confident that Yaxley would get the job. Parvenus they may be, but they're all reliable, stolid and uncompromising. I myself was one of the senior members who endorsed his candidacy. Well, now, imagine my surprise when I was told that my endorsement had been opposed." He paused for emphasis. "The last time someone proposed a candidate against one who had the support of the Blacks was 1848. The last time someone did so, and the candidate in opposition actually won, was 1832. Think on the legacy I have received, child."

"What happened, grandfather?" breathed Walburga

"Well, the candidate put up against Yaxley won. It was a woman, no less. Her name? Ottaline Gambol. Did you recognise the name then, child?" By now, Cygnus was trembling and shaking.

"No, grandfather."

"You didn't, child, because it was some unknown, dirty half-blood. A half-blood, who successfully defied the mandate of the House of Black. Can you imagine how humiliated I was?" Making an effort, Cygnus stilled the trembling of his hands, and took a long draught from his glass. "I didn't show it, of course. We never should. Leave it to those dipsomaniac Gaunts, making scenes and screaming the house down. What I did felt much better. While my spineless colleagues went and congratulated the bitch, I went to Dumbledore, who'd put her name up, and congratulated him on his third Ministership _in absentia_." He tittered gleefully. "That cooked the old fart's goose, and in front of the whole Wizengamot."

At home, Cygnus swore regularly. This did not mean, of course, that he wouldn't fly of the handle if any other member of the household so much as said "damn." Walburga was more than used to it. Pureblood girls didn't swear, but Walburga enjoyed practicing her cussing on Violetta's little lapdog.

"How dreadful. But at least you taught him a lesson, grandfather." supposed Walburga.

This put Cygnus back in a bad mood. "Hm? What's that got to do with what I was talking about? Don't interrupt where you're not wanted, girl." he snapped. "Here comes the cream of the jest. That old hag's decided on a novelty. She was babbling today about transportation problems to Hogwarts. Frankly, I never saw anything wrong with the way things are. It's good to be able to send our children to school in style, and if scum like your ex-cousin Cedrella's weaselly Weasleys can only afford portkeys, too bad for them. And I also always held it an advantage, if the Mudblood whelps couldn't find their way to school. Now, what was I saying? Don't distract me so."

Unfazed, Walburga replied "You were telling me about the Minister's talk, grandfather."

"Yes, that's right. So, what has Miss high-and-mighty half-blood decided to do? Why, she's going to bring a _train_ to school! Think of it, dear. No more horse-drawn carriages for you! You'll be riding back to school in a dirty, smoky, rotten Muggle contraption in January! Pah! I wish you all joy of it!" he barked.

"I think it's quite disgusting, grandfather." said the indignant Walburga.

"I voted against. And lost! Again! Again and again and again, the filth and mudbloods overwhelm us. Do you know how? Numbers. They breed like the vile flied that they are." Cygnus was shaking again. He poured and polished off another glass. "What the hell are you standing around for now? Go on, get out. I don't want you anymore." he snarled.

As Walburga walked out, she saw her grandfather hiccough and collapse in his chair, chest heaving angrily. Closing the door, she heard a muffled sob.

An ordinary child would have been glad to escape the oppressive study. Walburga shook with indignant, impotent rage. How dared those mudbloods! To see what her poor grandfather had been reduced to! Then and there, she vowed silently to herself that she would never see that evil taint enter her family. _Toujours pur, _she thought. _It always has been so. And God damn me if it don't stay that way!_


	4. Chapter 4

Orion's father Arcturus was about as dissimilar to the elder Cygnus as he could be without not being a Black. Crude, irreverent, and with a highly inapposite sense of humour, his favourite occupation was the pursuit of women, wine and good food. His magnetic attraction to most witches had always been an utter mystery to Walburga. Physically, he was completely unprepossessing; shortish, balding, and shrivelled like a prune. What she disregarded was the brightness of his darting eyes, the good-natured quirk of his mouth, and the lively colour to his cheek.

Walburga had had little intercourse with him until a rather disconcerting incident that took place shortly before her marriage. He had come to talk to her father about finding a wife for Alphard or Cygnus.

"So, cousin, tell me about this filly of Rosier's," he began.

"Well, Arcturus, I think she'd make a suitable wife for either of the boys. Father was quite keen on the match, as you know, and the family is certainly pure enough," responded Pollux.

"Then that's well & good, I suppose. But tell me, how did you like her figure?" asked Arcturus, illustrating the question with a vulgar gesture.

"Oh – I...ahem…didn't really notice, cousin," replied the embarrassed Pollux.

"You didn't? You should've, Pollux dear. Do you want your son married to some ugly, shapeless lump?"

"Well, she was a nice, clean looking girl, I'm sure." replied Pollux, getting steadily pinker.

"Oh, the Rosiers are always very pretty, blonde hair, wishy, white faces, all that. But let me tell you something, cousin dearest, one man to another. The first thing you should notice about a woman is her eyes," he stated blandly.

His cousin seemed relieved. "Oh…yes, a very sound maxim, Arcturus. She had very nice, limpid blue eyes."

"Then, when you can be sure the eyes are averted, take note of her breasts," he giggled.

Pollux was so shocked that he didn't respond at all. The nineteen year old Walburga, who had been sitting in stern silence at the window, engaged in embroidery, coughed delicately.

Arcturus' head whirled about. "Ah, if it isn't my dearest, favourite niece! Come here, darling, and give your old uncle a kiss."

Walburga approached, and coldly pecked Arcturus on the cheek.

"Oof! I could almost feel the vinegar on that. Tell me, Walburga dear, do you look forward to marrying our little boy?" he enquired.

"I shall do my utmost to be a wife befitting the family, uncle." she retorted. Her father smiled proudly.

"Oh, don't be stuffy with me, darling. I could hardly wait for my own wedding night. In fact…I don't think I waited at all. Hee!"

"Arcturus! Hush! The poor girl's still so innocent." interjected Pollux.

"You dream on as you like, Polly, you'd be surprised at all they learn at school. And I don't just mean from those ghastly old teachers," retorted Arcturus. "Now, if you don't mind, I have an urgent appointment with a very pretty barmaid at the Leaky Cauldron, and it is the height of bad manners to be late for such assignations. Goodbye, cousin, and you, Walburga." So saying, he leapt up spryly, kissed the startled Walburga on both cheeks, shrugged on his sinuous black cloak, and walked out the door.

Walburga exploded. "Really, father, I do _not_ know how you tolerate that vile creature. Family he may be, but never have I met a Black who lived up to the name less than he did."

"Careful, Walburga, or you may find that boast offset in some particularly unpleasant way," said Pollux.

"No, father, I'm quite serious. His habits are disgusting in every respect! Ever since Aunt Melania died giving birth, he's been absolutely incorrigible, I'm told. Barmaids and singers and whatnot! Its revolting." snapped Walburga.

"My dear, I know he comes across as rather direct, but he has a good heart, and is really quite sweet when you get know him," answered Pollux.

"Get to know him! I certainly hope not. With any luck, he'll have died by the time I marry Orion, preferably of something malignant."

"Walburga! How dare you? I understand that you dislike him, but he's family, and more than twenty years your senior." Pollux was genuinely wound up, something that seldom happened. Walburga realised that she had crossed a line.

"Yes, father. I apologise."

"We'll say no more about it. Now, it's almost time for dinner. Go and get dressed, dear. Oh, and I think you'd better not tell your mother or brothers that he was hear. I don't want to make anyone apprehensive."

"Of course not, father." Walburga walked out of the room, leaving her father to his own devices.

x.x.x.

Later in the day, she sat alone in her room, brooding sourly. Her poor grandfather, who had died the previous year, would have turned in his grave had he witnessed the day's incident. What was the world coming to? Orion, at least, was a nice, well behaved boy. But so young! And as for that other thing that grandmother had mentioned...she shuddered. It didn't bear thinking of. To engage in the act would be to lower herself to the level of an animal. Never mind that, she still wasn't quite sure _what _the act actually was, only that it was extremely unpleasant. Alphard, who was by now quite the expert, had once tried to enlighten her, but ended up receiving a hiding from their grandfather's riding crop.

"You'll learn some day, Alphard, that what is fit for discussion somewhere is...er...quite unfit for it...ahem...elsewhere," he ended lamely. "Anyhow, it's hardly the sort of thing to discuss in front of a lady."

And that, thought Walburga crossly, just about summed up their attitudes, the conceited pigs.


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing to strike people meeting Orion was that he was, first and foremost, a _tired _man. In later years, unsympathetic people said that it was the result of thirty-odd winters in Walburga's company. Others said that he the notorious poor health and short lives of the Blacks showed up in him. Yet others said that it simply the result of many, many generations of inbreeding. Whatever the truth, Orion always appeared drawn, thin, and grey.

His is a handsome morbidity, thought Walburga, as she twirled a gentle waltz in his arms. Very thin lips, very high cheeks, very pale skin, very clear eyes, and very thick lashes, each individually fascinating, combined to create in him a pleasing and appealing effect.

Walburga felt triumphant. Her horror of a son had been shipped off to Hogwarts the very same day, and she was in a better mood for it. No devilish pranks, mortifying solecisms or domestic calamities until Christmas! She had never felt better. What's more, he'd shape up far better once safe in Slytherin. She had written to Slughorn, ordering that he not spare her son the rod. Perhaps he'd also begin to understand essential concepts such as blood purity, family, honour, duty. A nagging voice at the back of her head told her that there was something wrong with the way he was formed, that he'd never understand, but she pushed it resolutely aside, and enjoyed the music instead.

Violins sounded in the background. The room was long and stuffy, filled with dancing couples, some elegantly dressed, most simply overdressed. The house belonged to Walburga's elderly great-uncle, Herbert Burke, celebrating retirement after a particularly inglorious three year term as Minister. The plump, corrupt old man waddled busily among his guests. As Walburga stepped off the floor and plucked a champagne from a floating tray, he sidled up to her, panting at the heat.

"Wally, darling, this just arrived for you," he lisped, handing her a note, and padded off.

Walburga lightly snapped the seal open, and plucked the missive from the envelope.

_Orion,_

_Please come home at once with Walburga. I have urgent news._

_Father_

She felt a presentiment of terror. Turning around, she tapped Orion on the shoulder. He immediately broke off the conversation he was having, and turned to her.

"Read that," she whispered. "We'd better go home at once."

He nodded wordlessly, and offered her his arm. As she shrugged on her soft furs in the hall, she wondered if the unthinkable had happened. A cold dread settled in her stomach.

x.x.x.

They arrived home at well past midnight, and walked into the large drawing room. It was full of people.

Arcturus sat in the big armchair, sucking his cheeks in, blinking very rapidly. Pollux was lying in on a sofa, his eyes closed, looking ashen, a damp cloth laid across his brow. Cygnus and Druella stood over him, he unhappy, she with a triumphant smirk in her eyes. Old aunt Cassiopeia sat in her usual corner, crying quietly into a handkerchief, flanked by Bellatrix and Andromeda; Bellatrix looked furious, Andromeda simply troubled. Alphard stood looking out the window, with an embarrassed grimace on his face.

Walburga stood at the door, trying futilely to divine the meaning of this cryptic scene. Cassiopeia handed her a note, and Walburga felt her heart skip a beat.

_Dear Mother,_

_I thought I should write to let you know at once that the feast is over, and cousin Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Narcissa._

Walburga's breath hitched, and she felt a sob growing in her throat. The evening ruined, the year ruined, her life ruined! She wanted to scream and scream and scream until she fainted, she wanted to rip up the tapestries, smash the windows, fling the furniture into the fire, and kill everyone who knew of her humiliation. Most of all, she wanted to get her hands on her son.

She did none of these things. She bit her lips, and spoke.

"This is very upsetting news. I would prefer to discuss it tomorrow morning, when we have the benefit of a good night's sleep, and can think clearly," she intoned, as calmly as she could.

"What's to discuss? Our name is mud," said Cygnus dully. Walburga glared at him.

"Nonsense. A freak of nature makes no difference in the long run to our house. I'm going to write to that senile lump, Dumbledore, and tell him to do what he can. And for heaven's sake, Aunty, stop making a scene," she snapped.

Without waiting for a response, she turned tail and went up to bed.

x.x.x.

She did not enjoy sleep for long. She woke in the darkness to the queer sensation of having her toes pinched. Looking down, she saw Kreacher, and kicked him.

"What are you doing, you stupid elf? What time is it,"

"Four o'clock, mistress, and Kreacher is very sorry, Kreacher is miserable at having to disturb mistress, but mistress is please to come very quickly, Master Alphard summons," he croaked.

Struggling out of bed, Walburga slipped into a loose dressing gowns, pushed her feet into pinching black shoes, and swayed precariously out of the room. She ran into Alphard as he descended the stairs.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Walburga," he began, "Please don't be worried, but I have some bad news."

"What? More? What is it? Has Arcturus finally croaked it?" she grumbled.

"Walburga…Orion's had a stroke-"

That was all she waited to hear, as she pushed Alphard aside and rushed up the stairs, five at a time, and burst, panting, into her husband's room.

Emptiness greeted her.

"Where is he, Alphard? _Where is he? What has happened_?" she shrieked hysterically.

"Walburga, it's quite alright," he said soothingly, "Father and Cygnus took him to St. Mungo's. They think it was just the sudden shock of…you know," here, he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

The icy claws gripping Walburga's heart turned into a fiery fist. Wordlessly, she turned around and walked down the stairs.

"Kreacher! Get me some parchment, ink and a quill in the Library. I have a letter to write," she called.


End file.
